Meet Maria, Fear Anaheit
by JazzMind
Summary: A Mary-Sue who would rather die than be one would be useful, if it could be kept from her. Middle-Earth will still have the Last Battle... it's just that everyone will be dead afterwards.
1. I'm Your Worst Nightmare's Little Sister

This one is for the FoP and Meethrill. And only FoP people know who Maria is. But hey, all you really need to know is that she's crazy. Oh, and in this story, Maria is in no way related to Kate, Tuvok, or anyone else that some people claim she may be related to. She has a normal (seriously messed up, but normal) human family. Somehow, she has also been through the Dragon World. I'm having fun, be quiet.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own LotR. Get over it. However, I did come up with Maria. Use her if you feel like it; but she's tricky to write. You have to be completely incredible, but know when to back down.  
  
Maria is one of mine. She is insane, aggressively antisocial, and miserable for a lot of reasons that if you go into, she'll do something deadly. Maybe to you. Maybe to someone nearby. But most likely to herself. So just keep your trap shut.  
  
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Maria was just bored. She wasn't _trying_ to get into some messed up world with people with EARS, okay?  
  
She was in a forest without a tent or a knife, and there was a guy who said he was an elf pointing a bow at her. This was okay. I mean, she was Maria. But that the guy being hot? That she could not deal with.  
  
"Yeah, yeah, I'm helpless, kill me."  
  
"Who are you?"  
  
"Just consider me your worst nightmare's little sister. Would you point that thing somewhere else?"  
  
He lowered his bow. It made her a lot happier; she had seen bows before. She had actually taken a week of archery, or so, before her mother found out and made her change her schedule. Having divorced parents was nice. "Do you have a name?"  
  
Something made her keep back her real name; what if they'd heard of her? "I'm Anaheit."  
  
"I am Legolas."  
  
"Thrilled to meet you. Were you born with those ears?"  
  
He reaches up inquisitively; they haven't changed to antennae. Not that he knows what antennae are, unless some passing Andorian told him. "They are natural to the species of elves." Something makes him ask, "Are you human?"  
  
"Biologically? Probably. Mentally? Don't bet on it."  
  
"Ah. What are you doing here?"  
  
"Uh . . . well, I was in the forest, and then I was in the wrong forest. It's probably a gamemaster thing."  
  
"?"  
  
"Long story. Random gods control my life to purposes they almost never tell me about. I think it's mostly to see how long it'll take to drive me nuts." It the quiet of her mind, she thinks, to whatever omnipotent being may be listening this time, *Hey. I was starting to fit in there. *  
  
(Audible to Legolas, too) %Take care of her, Elf. She ate too many carrots and got delusions of belonging. %  
  
He stares around. "Who are you?"  
  
% A god. Not yours, but hers. And I say again, don't kill her. % (Leaves.)  
  
Legolas is looking disturbed. "I need to take you to the city, to see what the king thinks of you."  
  
Maria is somewhere else. *Carrots, huh.* "Uh huh."  
  
"We are going now."  
  
"Uh huh." She follows. A few minutes later, "Where are we going?"  
  
"Rivendell."  
  
"Is there a road?"  
  
"Not right here."  
  
"Ah."  
  
They walk in silence.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
How am I doing? Legolas is the only character I really know; I mean, Sam and Frodo . . .  
  
Maria is miserable in this one. She's miserable in all of them, but bear with me. Is anybody reading this? Do I care? Authors, you know this. It's called a story idea. You need to write it and if people read it, that's frosting. 


	2. Universal Customs

This is not what I thought it might be, nor what some of you might expect.  
  
This is the first part of what happened in English class when we were analyzing some part of Macbeth and I was reading some other part. The rest of what I wrote in that incredibly long fifty-three minutes is going to be the (now fourth) chapter of this piece. It'll be more Macbeth, a little conversation, and a refused offer to become a better Mary Sue.  
  
This one... well, review it, because I'm not quite sure how well it went.  
  
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On the hike to Rivendell, there is little conversation between the elf and the human. What little there is, is quickly cut short by disinterest on one side and confusion on the other.  
  
After the ill-fated humming incident, Maria begins thinking of quotes, just for the heck. What else would her mind be doing?  
  
Without intending to, she murmurs a particularly appropriate one under her breath. "...I had else been perfect, /Whole as the marble, founded as the rock- "  
  
Legolas is confused. "What's wrong?"  
  
"Huh? Oh, it's Shakespeare."  
  
"Your husband, Anaheit?"  
  
That amuses her. "In some ways. What's the name of your king?"  
  
"Elrond."  
  
"Great name. Great man?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Wonderful. I hate those."  
  
The march goes on. Legolas is trying to understand this... person. She has appeared out of nowhere, been addressed by a godly being interested in her welfare, and now she apparently (thank heavens; Elrond was _still_ trying to find Aragorn's friend a bride) had a husband. Even Rafael, intelligent and well versed in the fighting skills as he was, might have trouble with this one.  
  
Behind him on the trail, he heard the sound of a near-trip and some interesting bits of invective.  
  
"Bloody root! Descended from a long tradition of flat-eared house elves with digestive problems, may you be the mate of a lecherous dwarf and dug up by irritable orcs! May you be eaten by deer and be multiply baptized by teenage elven rituals." (Anyone who didn't catch that can email me. Or grow a sick mind like the one I have. Whichever.)  
  
At the last, Legolas's brows rose. How did she know about that? He paused and turned to face her. "Excuse me?"  
  
*He heard that?* Kate turned a color that resembled something between a blush and a gargle. "Pardon?"  
  
He's an _elf,_ they have sensibilities. "Ah, the last of your... rather creative insults to the tree-"  
  
*He _can't_ be upset I cussed out a tree.* She is looking at one of the most unrevealing expressions she has ever seen. *Almost V-* Not going there. *Can he?*  
  
*Do I have to spell this out for her? Mary Sues are normally brighter than this. Maybe she's playing shy.* "The... " how to phrase it? "informal coming of age ceremony." There.  
  
*The... he thought I was serious. Sigh. Apparently _all_ people with ears are highly oblivious, no matter what species they think they are.* "All societies are the same, in essence."  
  
"Ah."  
  
"Mm-hmm."  
  
Legolas turns and resumes walking.  
  
Maria rolls her eyes and daydreams about Guillermo, the reason that she is only marginally aware of her marvelous view of Legolas's ass.  
  
~*~  
  
Through the trees, Legolas can hear the lilting strains of an elf-harp, and speeds his pace.  
  
Behind him, Anaheit emerges from her daydreams and catches up to him. "What- " She hears it. "Oh."  
  
Somehow, the forest light begins to glow a ;little more brightly, the sun to give off a bit more radiance. There is a sound of a stream nearby, and more of the harp's melody reaches (two sets) of appreciative ears. It weaves a delicate, thready melody, singing softly to itself in the dreamlike scene.  
  
Anaheit rolls her eyes.  
  
~*~  
  
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There may be more interval. There may be more story. And there will always be more poetry. So go review some of it! 


	3. The Tenors Chain Maria to a Tree

Rivendell... well, Maria is one of the least traumatic things happening to it, at this point. She is (obviously) minor to the actual LotR plotline, which may or may not be running around in the hills in its underwear somewhere.  
  
In other words, Rivendell is a ruin. There're fires everywhere, dead bodies, the forest is so much firewood, and there are large chasms riddling the ground. No, not really.  
  
But that _is_ what you should get from "least traumatic."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Maria was amused and annoyed. The dangerous part of that was the one starting with an "a.."  
  
"Dammit, I'm not evil!" She turned to Legolas. "Legolas, tell them I'm not evil."  
  
Legolas looks up from his arrow making. "She is not evil." He blinks. "Ah..."  
  
She sighs and looks back at the two humans trying to exorcise demons from her. "Okay, I admit it. I'm evil, a demon, an ork, a Ringwraith, and Satan. Are you happy now?"  
  
The men look discomfited. "It talks!"  
  
She just sighs and rattles the chains binding her to the tree. The eternal fading summer sunlight shines on iron, not mithrill, links. "Are you going to let me go inside anytime soon? Say, to the bathroom? Because give me another twenty minutes, and your delicate (wince) elf sensibilities are going to get seriously offended." She gets a strange image of Bugs Bunny. EARS, dammit!  
  
Legolas finishes on his arrow and looks up. "Anaheit, why are you chained to a tree?"  
  
She's been here for about four hours, and her feet hurt. She is seriously considering biting one of these guys. That reminds her of something. "Why are human priests in an Elvish forest?"  
  
The first man, who is a tenor in both voice and mind, speaks. (Wendy/Me: Amazing! He can talk? Author: Well, song is a little out of my league. Fred: But TENORS!!! La la la LAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!)  
  
On with the story. "Gandalf the Cream-Colored sent us here because . . . "  
  
Legolas draws his bow and shoots the lock off Anaheit's chains, which are ill wrapped enough that she could have simply ducked out of them herself, and knows it. "Go use the bathroom. Elvish smell is sensitive."  
  
"Thanks." She strolls off. She isn't sure whether she intends to come back. *They're insane. All of them. Insane.*  
  
"The prisoner is escaping!"  
  
The tenors dive on Anaheit and pummel her to the ground. Two elves, neither of them Legolas, who seems to have retired to a treehouse balcony for the view, drag them away from her. She has a bloody nose and is looking . . . the best word is pissed. Not very pissed. If they had hurt Legolas, then she would be _very_ pissed. (A/N: Anaheit likes Legolas. What can I say; she has a thing for the ears. It must be hereditary. And yes, I know I said she isn't related to Kate here. Did you actually believe me?)  
  
She stands slowly. "Excuse me." Her voice is soft. "That was . . . unwarranted." The elves are holding the fools. If the priests don't recognize the tone of voice they are hearing, the elves do. It is the voice used by someone tired. Pissed. Miserable for various reasons unrelated to the nearby world. And without any reason in seven fucking hells to give a shit.  
  
"That Was . . . Rude. Crude. ...Foolish." They are catching on. "And What Do YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING? YOU ARE IDIOTS!" She pauses to calm down. "You are fortunate that Gandalf put you somewhere you could not harm others."  
  
Out of the depths of some other universe's dimensionality, a voice comes. %Don't you count?% The voice is amused. You could want to hurt the owner of that voice, if it didn't reduce you to tears first.  
  
*Jackass.*  
  
She is done with these fools. Anaheit is pissed off, mad at the elf king, and thinking that Legolas is cute. Very cute. Drum-major cute. Unfortunately, the author has the worst crush in the world on someone and therefore Anaheit is only marginally interested in guys, because she is totally fixated on someone not even in the story. Is this sad or what? (A/N: The last chapter was black, with humor that would have been funny if there wasn't a feeling of instant death dispersed liberally through it. With the same character, this chapter is humor. But hey, laughter is temporary.)  
  
~*~  
  
The new White Wizard and his horse, Shadowfax, ride through the uncounted ways of Middle Earth, doing wizardly battle and massing his power for the next conflict in the war. In the middle of dispatching a pair of orcs, it occurs to him to check on the two blond tenors he "rescued."  
  
They had claimed to be from a place called "Hollywood," and they had been loudly trying to work up enthusiasm for a choir praising the beauties of Mordor. He hoped that the elves had been able to keep them under control.  
  
Dispatching the orcs, he rode for Rivendell and arrived just in time, as the hobbits would say, for afternoon tea. He found Legolas, who he had asked to watch the tenors for him, teaching a strange girl to fletch arrows. Unnoticed by the young human, who was obviously attracted to Legolas *Another Mary Sue? I hope not.,* he peered at the scene from behind a tree.  
  
Legolas was resisting stringing his bow and shooting the girl out of frustration.  
  
*That girl has no _hint_ of dexterity.* He strides into the clearing, intent on reaching the pair before one or both of them damages something. Like his hearing.  
  
"Dammit-!"  
  
"You need to learn-"  
  
"Why in bloody hell do I need to learn to-!"  
  
"You are USELESS!"  
  
Gandlaf was amazed. They were truly loud enough to wake the entire forest.  
  
"You're a bloody ELF, shut your trap!"  
  
He stands in front of them. Slowly, they both look up to find that famous (probably patented) Gandalf Glare pointed directly at them. "Where are they?"  
  
Anaheit rolls her eyes. "Whatever. You could introduce yourself." *Hmm. Older guy. Cute. Perfect opportunity to be flamed by the RonethDragon.*  
  
Legolas stands. "I will take you to them."  
  
~*~  
  
Having seen the two pinned to a large tree as target practice for the younglings, Anaheit follows willingly. *This must be the sorcerer Legs was talking about. Whatever.* In her mind, a voice rings. %Well, Maria. Are you still there?%  
  
Still several paces behind them, Maria is muttering to herself/the DM. "Jackass. They have fricking POINTED DOORS on their heads, there's a bloody wizard, and the forest..."  
  
%Beautiful, isn't it?%  
  
Bitterly. "Carrots?"  
  
%It seemed the only likelihood, at the time. Upon further reflection, perhaps it was a hallucinogenic toad.%  
  
Kate does not believe that % thought about her. *That is a thing I could think up, faster.*  
  
~*~  
  
In response to Gandalf's question, Legolas speaks in a low voice, his head down to mute the sound. Anaheit had a contest of hearing with elf-children, and won. Perhaps it is her ancestry. (A/N: No, she is still descended entirely humanly. No couch, no wings. Just a really messed up set of human parents, and a GM.) "A god, apparently. Told me not to kill her. Hmph."  
  
"Do you think she is to be involved in the war?"  
  
"No. maybe as a distraction, but not as anything else. She is too clumsy to be dangerous." With outrage. "She fell out of a _tree_ this morning." For an elf, that is the height of strangeness.  
  
(A/N: I don't fall out of trees. I'm a clutz, but come on, _trees?_ I can think of better things to fall out of. Like leggy-las's bed- not saying that. Right. Sorry, I meant Tu- *Gets strangled and flamed at same time by a lot of FoPeans, except for Rose, who STILL doesn't get "mostly unused." *)  
  
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Next chapter is the A/G scene. *Squeaks and ducks*  
  
Oh, for the rest of the universe, "mostly unused" is from my story Three Days. Which only has one chapter up so far, so don't bother, it doesn't explain yet. Damn, this is ... annoying. 


	4. What is Wished For

Sorry. I posted this one originally with more errors of reason and grammar in it than my last history test had. So I did what you _can't_ do with a test; I went back and did it intelligently. Hopefully. Have fun...  
  
~*~  
  
This is the fourth chapter of Meet Maria, Fear Anaheit, and it is an interval, if you think about it. It explains (some and few) things, gives new and confusing things, and does not much. This is _not_ the second part of the words that happened in English class a few days ago, thank heavens. Even _I_ will not blame _this_ on Berchin.  
  
This has a little companion-fic, Voices In The Darkness, and I wish people would review it.  
  
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The elves love the trees. Some of the other races, such as humans, dwarves, and hobbits, sometimes do not. The elves _know_ that some do not prefer the Green Heights... But there is a difference between knowing and _knowing,_ and that is what this is about.  
  
Gandlaf had refused purely ground-bound accommodations. He wanted to speak with the youngest elves, who are by habit quite reclusive, and without living in the trees, he would see little of them. He glanced up to where leafy branches hid the sky, and saw Anaheit hanging by her knees, apparently dozing, on a dangerously high branch of a nearby elm. He analyzed the situation, and decided that he felt no need to do something dramatic and fuss over her. *That is well.* She did not _seem_ overly Mary- Sueish, but one could never know, and one could never be too wary.  
  
~*~  
  
There was a feast, and when not wincing at the depths fading into darkness below his feet, Gandlaf did small magics for the reclusive elflings. Shortly, he excused himself to speak at great length with Elrond and his council.  
  
Outside of the council room, Legolas sat broodingly in the dark and age- twisted branches of an old and creaky elm, barely feet above the ground. His guise was turned inward, and he was in by far the foulest mood any (elf!) had ever seen him in. He was making inordinate numbers of arrows, and sometimes he forgot to pick up a new one, and carved it to useless thinness. The tree he sat in was worried. It curled thin, feathery leaves about him, laying them gently on his shoulder.  
  
*At least it does not tickle me. That is the one thing that can make me fall.*  
  
Somewhere, someone took note of that, and smirked.  
  
~*~  
  
Sitting on a carved stone bench, almost hidden in a snarl of roots from the tree above her, Maria was ruining twigs. *Lord, this is annoying.* Maria thought. *I'm stuck in the middle of Middle-Earth, in the blooming Elven Forest, and I can't even make a decent ARROW!* Ever since Gandlaf had arrived and spirited Legolas away to speak about the Fellowship, she had been sitting here, hopefully hidden, (riight, they're _elves..._) trying to put some of what she had learned between shouting matches this afternoon into practice.  
  
*Perhaps it was not long ago that they formed the Fellowship... But it seems many things have happened between then and now, and few of them pleasant, and many have fallen.* She winced. *Oh, gods, I'm talking like them.* Was that even me?  
  
And then a foreign thought appeared in her mind, and it rang like a thousand bells on a clear and wintry day in the high mountains.  
  
^You are Maria, of the human Earth, and I offer what you wish.^  
  
*How many omnipotents _are_ there that want to talk to me?* Maria groused to herself. *And if you're for real, I want a Big Mac and a super-sized order of french fries. Now.*  
  
A peal of laughter, pure as snow and kind as pale sleep, glowed behind her eyelids... and there was annoyance behind the warmth. ^I offer you fame and glory without price. I offer whomever you care for, in whatever world you wish him in.^  
  
And some part of her that makes jokes for the sake of jokes, that has been a bit too quiet for a bit too long, shakes it's head sadly at this goddess's obvious bias. *_Him?_*  
  
~*~  
  
What you have to understand is that this character not only has split personalities, she's a walking multidimension, a mobile and highly confusing universe. She's also a teenager. *Least traumatic, indeed.*  
  
~*~  
  
Inside Universes:  
  
Maria the small, pained child that long ago left Earth for the far reaches of all the universes, and maybe madness, reaches eagerly for the prize of being a Mary-Sue. She wants to join the shining ranks of the beautiful, the loved, the desired, the (foolish, irritating) Beautiful People.  
  
From the Dragon World, Maria the girl who was created nutty, innocent, winged, and underwater taps an impatient foot.  
  
Maria the "pasteurized couch product," born on the Starship Voyager, thousands of lightyears away from anything either of her parents called home, who lost her father to the "So Deal With It" universe and her mother to the rulership of a planet, raises an impatient eyebrow and joins her winged "sibling" in glaring at her major momentary self.  
  
Maria become Anaheit, the girl who was (maybe really?) born on the Planet Earth to a messed-up and pain-filled human family, Anaheit who loved her brother and the author who still loves someone not even in this STORY!!! is jumped on, sat on, and glared at by the rest of her mind. The assembled consciousness becomes temporarily sane, which is a bit of a strange thing to do, considering.  
  
Anaheit looks at her other selves, but what she really sees is Legolas. She wonders whether you could have a tan line on skin that pale, and knows that if she made one choice, she could find out.  
  
*Sometimes you just have to sing it loud, then cry...*  
  
Of course, she could just ask him, and know.  
  
~*~  
  
In the council hall, Gandlaf stirs from his pose of a wizard with a good dinner inside him and the fate of the world being discussed with him, and becomes Gandlaf the White, glorious to the nearer stars and powerful. He rises, and frowns, and no one who sat at that table thought of anything but that they were gladder than drink and song could make one that such a glare was not aimed at them.  
  
~*~  
  
Gandlaf worries. He knows this presence. It has caused him innumerable troubles, embarrassments, and young and attractive women to appear in his world. It was Zarabeth, whom he had once loved.  
  
~*~  
  
Maria's body sat on a small, carved stone bench at the base of a great elm in the darkening and star-lit evening. Her mind alternately stood, sat, prayed, cussed, and did less describable things to less present persons.  
  
~*~  
  
Gandlaf the White strode out of the meeting hall without a word, and small storm clouds trailed from his angry brows.  
  
Zarabeth, goddess and object of desire-  
  
~*~  
  
Robes flapping behind him. *I wish she would go away?*  
  
~*~  
  
A cold stone bench and too many minds... *I wish (Lord forgive me) -*  
  
~*~  
  
And from a Continuum where omnipotent beings torture Starfleet officers. %I'M WHO?%  
  
~*~  
  
^Aw shit, there goes the gig.^ And a woman who has played too many men and is about to be caught between two of them curses to the Elven night..  
  
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This needs an explanation. In order to infuriate the most people possible and therefore get many reviews, I need to make sure that everyone understands this. Otherwise, all I would get would be fiery expressions of confusion, and that's boring.  
  
Zarabeth is the name of the woman in the ST:TOS episode involving the portal to the past on the planet who's sun is about to go nova and the ice- time where Spock almost stays. She is not her here; but that _is_ where I got the name. In Middle-Earth, Zarabeth is (appropriate, huh?) the goddess of Mary-Sues, the characters who are so damn desirable they wreck any nearby plotline. Nevermind that the original Zarabeth actually _was_ most of the plotline, that's why I did it. She and Gandlaf apparently once had a thing, which implies that maybe she wasn't always a goddess, because I refuse to make him a fallen deity. (well, hmm.) No, I like the plot I have, and that would strain it a bit.  
  
Legolas has a good view of the whole commotion, but is brooding and therefore notices nothing, in good Elf style. Objections to that will be carefully considered, weighed, and spat upon. No, really, I'll explain it later if it's a problem, but it isn't planning to be.  
  
Somewhat Delayed Disclaimer: I do not own any Star Trek people or omnipotents. I do not own LotR or any characters from it. I do not wish to own or be in Maria's mind at this point in the story. I do not wish to own or be in the mind of Zarabeth now or ever, considering what is going to happen to her. (I mean, come on. Gandlaf _and_ Q ganging up on her? Poor lady.) Is this now a crossover? The song lyric is from a book I read a long time ago. Don't remember the name, author, and have doubts about how well I quoted it, but whatever.  
  
Ad for my related story: Anaheit (human Maria) has a messed up home life that Voices In The Darkness will continue to enumerate in more chapters. Suggestions are welcomed and reviews treasured.  
  
Oh, a note for readers of my Star Trek story, Three Days: At some point in the distant past, Gandlaf and Zarabeth have played chess in the Tuvokian sense of the term. And that is slightly less graphic than it can be.  
  
Review! 


	5. Running To Rohan

Here is the second Macbeth chapter. Finally. *wipes forehead* that _took_ a while! This is a bit rough; it will be fixed... Reviews are appreciated.  
  
I'm not quite sure when in the story this is all set. I've seen both movies and I read the books before they came up with the idea to make movies out of them... but that was a while ago, and I was plenty young enough to maybe miss a lot, and I _know_ that I don't remember all that I should.  
  
Disclaimer: I own nothing but Maria, Anaheit, and the idea Zarabeth being the goddess of the Sues. Why do I like yelling at Sues? I don't really. But it's part of the story now, and an important part, because it's going to cause the ending... Oh, news: I have a plot for this one. THIS HAS A PLOT. It's amazing. You can't tell, not really, but it's there and when it's over, I'll write it up. This thing would make a _lot_ more sense if y'all were telepaths, you know.  
  
Anyway, what am I babbling for? Read it!  
  
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Gandalf faced the woman in the elvish forest. Her beauty faded a little, and her face grew a line or two... in the dark evening, few woodland creatures called, perhaps not wanting to risk prompting the ambivalent anger seething between the trees.  
  
"Zarabeth." Small lightnings no longer trailed from his robes, and the White Wizard looked like nothing more than a man, tired of anger.  
  
Ravenhaired arrogance stood incarnate. No blond she, the now-goddess was not interested in talk. "Gandalf... What a... pleasure." A sneer made her face a parody of beauty, a risqué mask of contempt. "Girl." Anaheit started. She had risen from the bench, and was watching the drama in the center of the clearing warily.  
  
"What."  
  
"You were saying?"  
  
Anaheit is... human. Female. And doesn't respond well to bitches. "Oh, goddess, I ask a boon of you." She's had three universes to learn to keep a straight face. Zarabeth is looking triumphant.  
  
"Get your bloody ass out of this place, before I barf." (Credit due to ElvenRanger. That Elrond idea is _fun!_)  
  
"Why, you!!!" And then Q shows up. Finaly.  
  
%Hello, dear.%  
  
A look of shock crosses Gandalf's face. "_You._"  
  
%Who are _you?_" A bald man in a uniform not meant for this world stands glaring.  
  
Zarabeth quietly begins to fade...  
  
"Oh, no you don't!" Q snaps his fingers, and she is solid again. That angers our favorite wizard.  
  
"Don't you touch her that way, you fool of a Q!"  
  
Anaheit, unnoticed by the triangle, slips away into the darkness..  
  
~*~  
  
In a tree, Legolas stirs. He looks at a paper-thin "arrow" in his hands. Silently, he slips out of the tree and walks away into the night, his quiver riding on his back and his bow in hand.  
  
~*~  
  
The next morning, several things are discovered missing, and others to be in places they should not. For example: in the morning light, a well- dressed elf found a pile of arrows at the base of a chronically worried tree.  
  
Silverware, engraved with precious runes of healing, was found missing from Elrond's table. (Healing. Yes. Explained later.)  
  
Gandalf was discovered lying stunned on the ground, bruised as if from a fistfight and magically drained. In the same clearing was found a human, bruised, battered, and smirking. And since these are elves, it was one incredibly unhappy tree that led them to be able to piece together the incredible story.  
  
~*~  
  
Last night, apparently some things happened. First, the two men had a magical fight in another realm while trying to chase after Zarabeth. Then they had caught her, agreed long enough to imprison her permanently in a nearby tree, and then had a fistfight.  
  
Both found it more than a bit ironic that, entangled in the roots of the maple, there was a bench of mountain stone, carved by dwarves in some dark hall many eons ago. On it was engraved the words, "Eternales Dormantes a Amour," which reads, "You Are Forever Asleep to Love." They were in a language that this world had never heard of, that Q knew from a starship captain's history books and Gandalf from one over-educated Mary Sue a looong time ago.  
  
"Latin," Q said, before delivering a final roundhouse, "tells all."  
  
The wizard ducked, rose fluidly, and toppled his opponent with a finger. "Poor tree." Then both fell asleep, and the night echoed to the sound of crickets, two sets of snores, and one sad maple with a crow perched in it.  
  
~*~  
  
A/N: The Latin is not from Macbeth, it is from my imagination. If I had my Latin dictionary, I would do it right.  
  
~*~  
  
That still didn't explain the silverware or the missing Prince Greenleaf. Or the fact that Anaheit was first missing for the fist half of the morning and then unusually quiet and well behaved. Not that anyone noticed... Gandlaf was being wizardly and Legolas was gone. Q had vanished and the crow had curled up on Elrond's arm and seemed to be having a grand time being petted by the worried king.  
  
~*~  
  
*flashback*  
  
Hindered by the darkness, Anaheit stole through the trees, aiming for the dining hall. She had heard about the enchanted silverware from the elf children, and she guessed what they were for. Reaching the hall, she looked about, seeing nothing. She reached for the door... And a tree limb smacked her hand.  
  
She muffled her exclamation to a grunted verse. *talking to trees.* "I'm trying to _help_ him! How far do you think he'll get without those damned runes?"  
  
The tree considered it for a moment. It moved aside.  
  
Regretting the wasted seconds, she searched hurriedly for the enchanted utensils, passing by a frying pan and an eggbeater, (a/n: yes, from the enchanted forest series) she found the drawer she was looking for. *Washing dishes is good for you.* She pulled out two sets of them; knife, fork, and spoon.  
  
Out the door, she ran for the path through the trees that she remembered led west, towards Rohan. After a few minutes, she heard a noise. It occurred to her how _dark_ the forest was. *I didn't make the choice. I can still be eaten.* She stopped, and was immediately grateful. Slowing her labored breathing, she thought she heard whistling up ahead. It was amazingly in tune. She approached slowly, knowing that there was no way she could possibly sneak up on the prince while he was awake. Finally, after what seemed like hours, he stopped, and she heard the sounds of a camp being made. She sat down on the hard ground, determined to wait. The trees above her head whispered to her through the light pre-dawn breeze. Dawn was not far away. When she was about to doze off, a leafy limb descended to her shoulder and tapped her awake.  
  
~ now... ~  
  
"?? tired."  
  
~ now! ... ~  
  
She crept forward. Careful not to disturb him, she opened the prince's bag and slipped in the two sets of silverware. Then she sat down against a tree root and waited for him to wake.  
  
~*~  
  
Anaheit had crept back into the city under cover of the excitement of finding the two battered men. Most of the elves were off gawking at the bruised Gandalf, and with the trees helping her to remain undetected, she made it back to her little treehouse unseen.  
  
~*~  
  
*flashback*  
  
Legolas was tired in mind, body, soul, and spirit. *Rohan.* Finally, the gray light of predawn and the worried rustling of the trees convinced him to stop. *Just a short rest.* He was unconscious almost immediately.  
  
His dreams were many and confusing. In one of them, Aragorn rode at the head of a horde of men, as they passed through a forbidding door. He could make out words faintly.  
  
"The Paths of the Dead."  
  
"We shall be, if we do not ride it."  
  
The dwarf Gimli, seated on a horse much too large for his stout figure, groaned. "I do not like these halls, Strider."  
  
Legolas frowned. Gimli afraid of passing underground.  
  
Another dream intruded. He was witness to a great mage-battle in some strange place... Mordor, it looked like. Gandlaf hurled energies at a bald man in an unlikely outfit... then ducked a levanbolt that could have destroyed him. Instead it annihilated the soot-stained tower behind him, and Gandalf smiled triumphantly.  
  
"You do good always, Q! Your curse!"  
  
He strained to hear the reply, but this too was fading. "Damn that Picard..."  
  
Distantly, Legolas remembered the confrontation in the clearing, and wondered who Picard was.  
  
He saw two hobbits and a creature deep in Mordor, staring with foreboding at lightning roaring ahead of them. He smiled as he heard Sam say, "Oh, I _wish_ gandlaf was here." The lightning hit a tower and it exploded in fragments. Over the wasteland, a furious voice called out, "Damn you, Jean- Luc!"  
  
Slowly, he woke, and the urgency washed over him anew. Groaning, Legolas rolled over and tried to stand. A leafy branch caught him before, tangled in his bedroll, he could fall. He saw a young girl sleeping against a root of the tree that held him, and winced. He could _not_ explain Anaheit to Aragorn. *Neither of them would understand too well, I think. Mary-Sues are notoriously bad about that.*  
  
~*~  
  
A/N: the rest of that scene can wait. I need to get some other stuff down. May come back to it later.  
  
~*~  
  
Gandalf, if no one else, eventually remembered the problem of the non-Sue who might now be one anyway. *If she finds out, she may do something foolish.*  
  
*Foolish? I can't, remember, I'm beautiful and intelligent.*  
  
"I'm sorry, Gandalf. We have no more steeds. The girl will have to walk." Elrond was busy organizing a battle plan, and Shadowfax not allowing Anaheit within meters of him was a bit secondary.  
  
"Ah, well then." Gandalf was hardly surprised, but still he had hoped... he would hardly admit it, but he was still feeling a bit drained from last's night's... battle. (author dies laughing)  
  
~*~  
  
Gandalf finds Anaheit carving arrows, with a bit better success rate this time. He decides not to mention it.  
  
"Anaheit."  
  
"What the hell do you want?"  
  
"Do you still wish to be called by that name?"  
  
"Yes." *Gandlaf the Grey, of the Misty Mountains and the Dragon. Great. Well, at least I know he's not senile.*  
  
"Quite correct. Who _are_ you?"  
  
"Here? Anaheit."  
  
"Your life has been interesting, hasn't it?"  
  
"May you live in interesting times."  
  
"I have. And do."  
  
"The Inferno is easily the most read book of the Divine Comedy."  
  
"Do you trust me to transport us to my tower?"  
  
"Hell, no. Let's go."  
  
~*~  
  
After a magical trip that bothered her not a tall and drained the wizard out of all proportion, the two talk late into the night.  
  
"An adventure? I wouldn't be any help. Or at least not until I get some... sleep." (Author is flamed by all readers of Three Days. No, I don't mean it.)  
  
*A Mary-Sue who would rather die than be one would be _useful,_ as long as it could be kept from her. "Perhaps you could be. It is late and we are tired."  
  
~*~  
  
Anaheit retires and sleeps the sleep of the sues; she falls asleep immediately and has pleasant dreams.  
  
Gandlaf looks in on her room late at night; he is worried that she will steal _his_ silverware... it is similarly engraved, and he still has no idea of what she used it for. However, she is deeply unconscious, and appears in no hurry to wake up.  
  
Softly, so as not to wake her, he speaks. "...And I another/ So weary with disasters, tugged with fortune, / That I would set my life on any chance, /To mend it or be rid on't." He wonders briefly why Legolas thought that his new mage-student was married to Shakespeare. *Perhaps she is.*  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
There is more. There will always be more. A final argument with the computer spellcheck, and I'll give it away to your tender flames...  
  
This is, at the moment, all that I have time to do. Errors pointed out will be fixed when possible, just like last chapter.  
  
The references to three Days are marked by loud authorlike snickers... can't miss 'em. If you haven't seen it, go look! Admission free to the public. 


	6. Runes Save Her

This was intended to be short, angsty, and to go away politely and let the plot get on with things. But when I get attacked by the Muses of Darkness, they bite hard. This is exactly what I meant to do; I was just planning to do it in about five hundred words less.  
  
This is chapter six of Anaheit. As opposed to the ramblings of someone in a mental ward, where I am not although I admit the possibility that I may be admitted to one someday.  
  
Warning: This chapter is PG-13 for sick violence, loud and bloody insanity, and general darkness. I was thinking about R.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
The mighty wizard paces the dark room. Arcane objects decorate the walls, and piles of scrolls fill the shelves. After knocking it against the glowing ball of light that is dimly illuminating the room for the umpteenth time, he sighs and removes his wizard's hat. His long white beard glows as he paces to a large medieval window. Drawing the deep red velvet curtains aside, he looks out at the snow-covered hills. The moon is just rising from behind the mountains, and it shines on his face, highlighting the deep shadows formed by his sternly set features.  
  
"It was said, 'He is a dreamer; let us leave him; pass,' when the gray crow brought bide of Mordor; but to be proved right is less joy than it has ever been for any mortal man..."  
  
The moonlight haloed his hair, and he sipped at a steaming earthen pot of tea poured from a large glazed kettle, a present from a hobbit, long ago. "He [Sauron] doth bestride the narrow world/ like a Colossus, with we [but] peep about/ To find ourselves dishonorable graves." He sits heavily on a wooden chair that, in the pale glow of the night, looks far unfit to hold his weight. "What mortality, what fragile things are human souls, that they are so soon lost to evil. Boromir was a great man, a good man, and only chance gave him death, betrayal, dishonor, rather than condemning his brother. Sauron grows stronger in our hearts. Even here in Retraet my keep, he strangles my thoughts. ...What evil may he do to Anaheit?"  
  
Gandalf was truly in the spell of the Mary-Sue now. He had spent long hours (*Oh, no, short ones! Fgor your beauty is like the sun...*) in her company tonight while tired and thoughtful, and that effect could not be easily reversed. The time before she had been with him was vague and unimportant in his memory, and his thoughts rested on her. He was finally forced to look in on her simply to make sure that she had not been attacked by "some potent power withoute his' purviewe," as often happened to those of her persuasion. She was fine; her hair soft on the pillow, her perfume attractive in the air, and she didn't even snore. Gandalf shook himself out of it hurriedly and left, to go get some sleep before he did something unfortunate.  
  
*It is all very fine for them to go after Legolas or somesuch,* he thought, *But _I_ should be immune. I must get her to Aragorn before she begins to concentrate, instead of just being this way naturally.*  
  
~*~  
  
In her room, Anaheit's eyes snapped open. A mad glow was in them. "I am _not_ a Mary-Sue." She rose, thrusting the blankets back with a grace that only disgusted her. Her hair caught on a splinter of wood from a bookshelf and pulled painfully. "That's more like it." A small cat that had been sleeping in the corner widened its eyes and backed up until the wall stopped it, it's gray fur puffed and it's still-blue eyes wide.  
  
She slipped out the cracked-open door. She looked around for a moment, then headed for the little room they had talked in that night. He had gone into a connecting room and brought out food for them when they had arrived. *A kitchen. A kitchen has knives. I need a knife.*  
  
In the room behind her, the kitten cowered until her footsteps had faded. It's normally thin tail still a bottlebrush the size of a table leg, it scampered down the hall in the opposite direction. Slipping through a small pet-sized doorway in the middle of a wall, it landed on the wizard's dresser table, knocking a small crystal globe and a scroll crashing to the floor. From there, the kit rebounded to land on a dresser. It yowled as if someone had taken it's milk and jumped on the bed to cower in the lap of it's master, who was sitting up in confusion. His beard puffed like an elderly goat's and his blue eyes were a mysterious match for those of the cat.  
  
"What is it?" He stood and donned a dark blue velvet robe. "Llead me." The scared kitten ran out the door, his master striding behind, a worried look on his face.  
  
~*~  
  
Maria stabbed herself in the throat again. The kitchen knife made a long gash in her flesh. For a moment her breath wheezed out through her torn windpipe. Blood sprayed all over the kitchen, adding a third coat of gore to the surroundings. The rent healed as soon as she took the knife from it. Cursing, she applied it to her wrists. Blood flowed, black in the flickering firelight. It healed. "You monkey's ass!" She threw the knife into the flames, and a smell of battlefield fires began to pervade the room.  
  
She took a fork from the drawer and held it, nerving herself to plunge it into her eye. A word of power stopped her hand. Screaming incoherent blue murder, she wrenched at it, frozen in midair at the wrist. Spitting insane curses and writhing like a possessed snake in the throes of arsenic, her wrist broke with a sick snap. A bone protruded from her skin at an angle that was just wrong.  
  
Gandalf, having seen battlefields filled with the dead and dying of every species in Middle-Earth, felt a sick disgust that at least temporarily repealed the Sue- caused fog enveloping his facilities. With a word, he rendered her unconscious. She hung from her broken wrist, the skin tearing a little more, like wet parchment under a quill.  
  
He hurriedly lifted her and released the minor spell binding the wrist to that exact location in space. It dropped to the table with a stomach- roiling thud, and a small pool of blood began to form. From the kitchen doorway where it had been standing, the kitten jumped onto the table with the awkward grace that felines of that age have, and began licking around the wound.  
  
Gandalf stared at the cat, aghast. *By Merlin's beard, I never knew felines were affected by them!* He reached into the silverware drawer and withdrew two spoons and a knife. He lay the spoons on her wrist and the knife at her throat. Slowly, the offending bone sank back into the skin. The tendons slipped back into place. At her throat, the scars formed by too-hurried healing began to fade. Gandalf picked her up and carried his new protege into his bedroom. He lay her on his bed and covered her with a cloak. Then he went and locked himself into his workroom until morning.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
I am absolutely sure that you want to yell at me for this. Do so!  
  
Oh, and hi, Chelsea! What do you think so far? 


	7. Leaving Now

I haven't updated this for a very, very long time, mostly because I haven't felt any real need to kill my characters. And yes, I own Middle-Earth. It's one of those wonderful things that make me Tigger. If you've never heard of Tigger... your parents need more kids. I don't feel any particular need to kill characters _now,_ either... but I want to write. And I'm sick of poetry.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
In the morning, Gandalf rose from the workbench he had draped his long frame over, and stretched painfully. The fire in the grate had worn out some hours ago, and he had not wanted to risk magic in the quiet hours of the morning, when Sauron and his minions were watching so closely for a slip.  
  
Anaheit slept the sleep of the dead in her room. A small, gray-striped cat was curled next to her left wrist, stirring uneasily as the pre-dawn stillness wore into dawn.  
  
Through a window in the lower part of the castle, cheerful birdsong intruded on the disturbed thoughts of two humans (do either of them count as human?) and one small animal. Gandalf made his way unwillingly to the kitchen, the scent of dried blood wafting to him from across the dining room. One thing was certain; he would not be making eggs this morning, unless he used his own.  
  
(A/N: If you got that, don't tell me that I'm exaggerating size. Wizards can do anything they want, right?)  
  
Anaheit woke up slowly, unspeakably sore. The events of the last night returned to her, and she fought down the wave of shame that always tended to make her irritable. She was still dressed in everything from her boots up; she fought down a feeling of disappointment before it could add to her burden of ill regret.  
  
Gandalf looked around the remains of his bloodied and slightly disheveled kitchen, and sighed. What he wouldn't give for a house elf right about now. Well, there was nothing to be done; he headed for the pantry in the back (the bloodstains were lighter there) and went looking for edibles that could be eaten without silverware.  
  
Outdoors, the sun had just topped the horizon and the mountains were beginning to glow with the aura of a pleasant summer day. Which is actually pretty strange, as it wasn't really summer. But whatever.  
  
Gandalf had tied the foodstuffs into a bundle and fastened it to the mostly- for-show tack on Shadowsbane. "Shadow, why do you not like that..." he had to search for an appropriate word. "...that..."  
  
Shadowsbane snorted. *Exactly. What _are_ you going to call her?*  
  
The old wizard simply sighed. "I will be needed at the battle, old friend. If I cannot get her to safety in time, you may have to tolerate her."  
  
*I do nothing against my nature. She will not mount me.*  
  
(A/N: Phrasing intentional.)  
  
The wizard blinked. "My god. That _does_ shed a new light on the matter."  
  
~*~  
  
Back to the bedroom.  
  
Anaheit attempted to stretch the soreness out of her muscles, but merely succeeded in putting herself into mortal pain and startling the cat with one of the most heartfelt groans the poor thing had ever heard from a human throat.  
  
"Oh, Legolas, come save me."  
  
~*~  
  
She had wandered out to the stableyard, not knowing exactly where her feet were leading her. When she saw Shadowsbane, she retreated back into the bushes, knowing exactly how little protection they offered her.  
  
"Come, girl." Somewhere he had found (or made) a beast for her. "Mordor awaits, and the Last Battle. I dare not be late."  
  
Apparently he had found a spell to resist her charms. Thank the lord; she _did_ want to do this honestly, after all. She practically flew up to her saddle. For some reason, her horse mewed. She shook her head after a second. It was none of her bunnies what the wizard wanted to do with horses, for one to learn that sound. *Ugh. I want my Aragorn.*  
  
~*~  
  
Many days of riding later...  
  
~*~  
  
"Halt! In the name of Rohan!"  
  
Gandalf nearly cried with relief.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
I'm too tired to kill them all today.  
  
I know that this one wasn't too good, but if I get, say, seven more reviews then I'll do more. 


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